


he is half of my soul, as the poets say

by iwritetrash



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller, Victoria (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, M/M, So much angst, War, a couple of vague fluffy moments, blood mentions, the song of achilles au that nobody asked for, very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 06:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12835566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritetrash/pseuds/iwritetrash
Summary: perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone~Alfred’s fellow soldiers tell him that to be a hero is to bear the weight of the world’s troubles, that to be a hero is to surrender one’s innocence, that to be a hero is to forfeit happiness itself. He looks at Edward and finds himself unable to believe them.I will have both, he tells himself,I will be the first to have both.He is wrong.





	he is half of my soul, as the poets say

**Author's Note:**

> title and summary quote from the song of achilles bc i am trash for that book, and the fact that alfred and edward talked about the iliad made it impossible for me not to write this au

This is how it begins: Alfred is a prince. Alfred is a demigod. Alfred is prophesised to become the greatest man that ever lived.

And then there is him.

Edward.  
  
He comes from almost nothing. He has worked for everything he owns. He holds Alfred’s heart in his hands from the first moment they meet.

They meet as children, and they build an innocent love through their adolescence, exchanging sugar-sweet kisses and feather-light touches. It cannot last.

The war comes for them eventually, and Alfred is called to command with his ever loyal Edward at his side. The war stirs a passion in Alfred which cannot be ignored, stoking a hot flame of desire low in his stomach. His kisses are not so sweet, his touches not so innocent, but Edward supposes this is just growing up.

Alfred changes yet more still, as the war takes its toll. He is calculating, cold, brutal even, to all but Edward. His tender, loving Edward, who avoids the battle in favour of studying the politics of war, pondering peace treaties and mutual ceasefire.

When Alfred returns from battle, covered in blood which is never his own, Edward sets aside his papers and bathes his lover until his hair is light again and his skin no longer streaked with scarlet. They do not talk of the war. They have learned very quickly that it will only lead to arguments.

There are better days from time to time; days with no battles to be fought, or strategies to plan; days where Edward can drag Alfred deep into the forest and kiss him, pressed up against a tree like they are children again; days when they can drink wine and laugh and talk freely as though the war does not burden them. These days are few and far between.

There are bad days, a hundred for every good one at least; days when nothing is gained; days when the battle is lost; days when more corpses come back than men; days when Alfred returns immediately to his tent where he knows Edward will be waiting, and collapses into him, still bloodied from the battle. These days come thick and fast. 

Alfred’s fellow soldiers tell him that to be a hero is to bear the weight of the world’s troubles, that to be a hero is to surrender one’s innocence, that to be a hero is to forfeit happiness itself. He looks at Edward and finds himself unable to believe them.

 _I will have both_ , he tells himself, _I will be the first to have both_.

He is wrong.

Here is how it ends: people notice. _Their enemies_ notice. Anyone with two eyes and a brain can see how Alfred behaves around Edward, and when their enemies realise this, they realise the key to destroying the greatest man that ever lived.

Edward is Alfred’s _Achilles’ Heel_ , so to speak.

Here is how it ends: Edward is assassinated while Alfred is busy fighting a battle which is intended to be nothing more than a necessary distraction.

When Alfred returns to the camp, he is met with the news of his lover’s death, and the sight of his lover’s corpse.

Here is how it ends: the plan fails. Alfred slips into a white hot rage that only seems to make him stronger. The armies of his enemies are destroyed, the war is finally won, and Alfred returns home victorious.

Here is how it ends: the victory means nothing.

The war may be won, but his Edward is still dead, and he cannot be brought back by something so petty as _victory._

Here is how it ends: Alfred fights battle after meaningless battle anyway, yet not a single fight brings him any relief. It is not until, finally, he feels the sting of a dagger entering his flesh between his ribs that he finally feels as though he has been released.

Here is how it ends: Alfred dies with a smile on his face.

He will be with Edward now.

**Author's Note:**

> leave me some kudos or a comment if you liked this!


End file.
